Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  I refuse to let even a flicker of a reaction cross my face and show him how his words ricochet inside me like a boomerang with sharp razor-like edges. I know he’s right, but hell if I’ll give him any sign his words hit their mark.

  “She’s my friend.” I huff out each word on heavy breaths. “That means nobody’s good enough for her.”

  A large paw of a hand shoves its way between us. “Y’all better break it up.”

  I get a stern look from my left tackle, Bryce Daniels. A few feet behind him, our tight end, Dallas Hampstead, looks ready to step in and play referee. Though he’s usually quieter than the others, Dallas is still one of the rich kids and tends to hang with them.

  Bryce’s eyes flick to Ashton, his tone turning frigid. “If you think you’re good enough to breathe the same air as Magnolia Mae, I reckon you might wanna work on what comes out of your mouth.” His brows slant down. “Her daddy’s in politics, so you better watch yourself.”

  Ashton’s eyes narrow to tiny, angry slits. He shoves away and stomps to grab his things with a muttered, “Fuck this shit.”

  When the door of the locker room falls closed behind him, the tense atmosphere relaxes, and everyone resumes their conversations. Dallas shakes his head without a word and turns back to his locker.

  Bryce slaps me on the back. “Ready to head out?”

  I nod. “Yep.”

  We exit through the side entrance of the locker room leading to the school parking lot where I parked my truck. The minute we leave the air-conditioning and enter the faint humidity of the early evening, I breathe out a sigh.

  My truck isn’t brand new like most of the vehicles the other students have, but it’s mine. I worked my ass off to buy it, and Dad’s helped me restore it when he’s not working. It’s my pride and joy.

  Bryce walks over to his Lexus SUV parked beside me and he unlocks it with a quick press of his key fob. “Can’t let that asshat bother you.” He tugs open a door, tosses his bag inside, then turns to me. “You know that’s all he wants, right?”

  I give a short nod. “Yeah.”

  “Don’t let him rile you up.” He studies me for a moment. “You know he was talkin’ shit…” He trails off, head tipping to the side. “About you not being good enou—”

  “Yeah,” I cut him off. “I know.”

  It’s a lie, but I’m not getting into it with him. Not interested in having some Dr. Phil moment with my teammate in the damn school parking lot.

  The truth is, I know I’m not good enough for Magnolia. Not good enough for her to continue to give me her time and friendship. Sure as hell not good enough to be her best friend. Her mother and mine have been determined to remind me of that.

  Mrs. Barton strikes when I cut their next door neighbor’s grass or at church with one of her plastic smiles to cover the fact that she’s hissing at me while others are out of earshot. My mom’s got free rein, though, since her comments are pretty much nonstop when I’m around and she sure as hell doesn’t care who hears.

  Bryce looks like he wants to say something else, but I hurry up with, “Gotta run and head to work. See you tomorrow.” He gives me a two-fingered wave, and we get in our vehicles and exit the parking lot.

  On the way to my shift at the country club, my mind wanders. Magnolia and I have been practically inseparable since we first met. Once school started, our last names—Barnes and Barton—ensured when a teacher seated us alphabetically, we’d be nearby one another. As it turned out, no one had a name between ours, so we usually ended up in the same row, with me in front of her.

  Magnolia’s the one who’ll straighten the back collar of my cheap, plain white polo—part of the public school dress code. She’ll mother me, and…well, no one else would get away with doing that to me. But growing up with a mom who’s never been much of a nurturer, and Magnolia who’s one of the kindest people around, I allow it.

  Hell, if I’m being honest, I secretly love it.

  She cares about me. The boy whose family isn’t wealthy and sure as hell doesn’t waste money on hiring a landscaping service. The boy whose clothes are inexpensive and purchased on clearance—if I don’t find them at the local secondhand store. Compared to the brand-new designer khaki pants and polo shirts most of the other students wear, I stick out like a sore thumb.

  But Magnolia never makes me feel inferior. When she looks up at me, I feel like I belong.

  She almost makes me believe I’m good enough.

  “Nice to see you, son.” Grandpa Joe flashes me a welcoming smile.

  Mom doesn’t come to church with Dad and me—at least not after the first time. She said she couldn’t stand to be around so many snobs with more money than they knew what to do with. I mean, she’s not completely off base, but a lot of people who attend Holy Cross Church are hardworking folks just like Dad and Mom.

  “Good to see you, Joe.” Dad shakes Grandpa Joe’s hand with a smile, and the two start up a conversation about the message from today’s service and then about the upcoming men’s retreat.

  I tune them out as soon as I catch Magnolia’s eye from where she stands in the back of the church. Her stepdad and mom are on either side of her like they’re her own personal bodyguards. I swear, they’ve always been like that. Watching her like they think she’ll try to break free and run off or something.

  I wink at her, and she grins, her silver braces flashing in the lights overhead. She looks really pretty in that dress. It’s light blue, and the hem stops at her knees. I realize now that it shows off her body more than the everyday polo shirt and khakis uniform we wear to school.

  I tug at my collar. It feels like the air isn’t circulating in here enough. Maybe they’re having problems with the A/C unit.

  Magnolia’s smile fades, and she leans in to say something to her mother. The woman glances over at me, and if I ever wondered what it might be like to be on Antarctica in a frigid ice storm, this is it. With an icy look, face tight, her lips still form that fake half-smile when I know she’d rather snarl at me.

  I just smile back as casually as possible. You attract more bees with honey and all that.

  It doesn’t work, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Her eyes narrow on me and I know what she’s silently saying.

  You’re not good enough for Magnolia. Stay away from her.

  Hell, she says it aloud every time she corners me. But I go against the woman’s wishes for one reason: Magnolia.

  Sure, it’s selfish, but I’ve never had a friend like her before. And I have a feeling I’ll never find anyone else like her. She’s irreplaceable. I know she’s too good for me, but I’d sooner die than hurt her.

  Magnolia approaches my side and bumps her shoulder against mine. “Fancy meetin’ you here.” Her blue eyes are bright and happy. She tied her blond hair in a low ponytail with a ribbon matching the color of her dress.

  She’s just too pretty for words.

  I grin and lean in to tease, “I only come here for the gossip.”

  She laughs softly, and the sound calms me instantly. “Oh? Pray tell. What did you learn today?”

  “Well,” I whisper conspiratorially, “I found out that Marilynn Jeffers thinks her husband has a problem with porn because she found the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition in his office.”

  Her eyes flash with amusement. “Not that,” she whispers back. “Just scandalous.”

  I nod, continuing with my teasing. “And then there’s a rumor goin’ around that a certain high school girl wanted to ask a certain guy to the Sadie Hawkins dance.” I’m just kidding, of course, implying she wants to ask me.

  Not that I would mind, though…

  Magnolia freezes, her brows slanting together, lips parting in surprise. “How’d you know that? Did he say somethin’ to you?”

  The smile drops from my lips so fast, it would’ve crashed to the floor if it were possible.

  “Wait, what?” I frown. Now, I’m confused.

  “Did Dallas tell you?”

&nbs
p; My stomach churns like the Gulf of Mexico during a bad storm. “Tell me what?” I say slowly.

  “That I asked him to the dance.”

  There’s a good chance I might hurl my breakfast right here on the worn church carpeting.

  I swallow hard and shake my head, forcing myself to play it cool. “He never said anythin’.”

  Her shoulders deflate instantly on an exhale. “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried he told you because he got cold feet or somethin’.” She smiles up at me. “I asked him when I ran into him last night.” Her smile fades, features drawn, and she reaches up to touch the inside of her forearm to my forehead. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

  Agitation attacks me at full force and I run a shaky hand through my hair, managing to drag in a much needed breath. I tip my head, gesturing to the doors leading to the parking lot. “Can we…get some air?”

  “Sure.” Her answer is slow and cautious.

  I tear my eyes away from the concerned look on her face. She automatically holds on to my upper arm as I lead her outside. I stop a few feet away from the doors and away from the others who are mingling.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I nod. “I’m fine.”

  I draw in another breath and let it out slowly without meeting her eyes. Instead, I squint against the bright glare of the sun and pretend to be interested in the people mingling around us. “So, you’re goin’ to the dance with Dallas, huh?”

  “I can’t wait.” Her hand reaches for the one hanging loose at my side. “Will you help me pick out the matchin’ flannel shirts? I don’t want to choose somethin’ too girly but still want—”

  “Sure thing.”

  Silence. Then she gives my hand a quick squeeze.

  I swear I feel it all the way to my heart.

  When I turn to face her, she looks worried, so I muster up a smile. “Don’t do that. You’re too pretty to frown,” I say gently.

  Her eyes widen, her breath hitches, and I realize what I just said.

  Shit. I’ve never said anything like that to her.

  She gives me an odd look—a mix of surprise and wonder. “You’ve never told me I was pretty before.”

  I drag a hand down the back of my neck, the muscles tense and stiff, and I look away. “Come on, now.” I try for a humorous tone. “You know you’re pretty.”

  “But…” Her voice sounds a little breathless. “You’ve never—”

  “Magnolia Mae!” Her mother’s voice interrupts whatever she was about to say.

  Part of me wishes I could hear the rest.

  The other part is relieved I won’t.

  She turns her head to answer her mother, and I’m faced with her profile. Soft features, a nose that’s straight and narrow but not too narrow. Cheekbones I’ve heard the other girls tell her they envy. Lips that look like—

  Oh, shit.

  “I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you later, okay?” I offer a quick smile to a bewildered-looking Magnolia before taking off toward my dad who’s finally wrapping up his own conversation.

  I don’t know what the hell my problem is, but I need to regroup.

  And it seems Dallas and I need to have a serious talk.

  In his driveway, Dallas stands by the open driver’s side door of his car. I park my truck at the curb and stride up the fancy stamped concrete drive. With earbuds in, it’s obvious he’s talking to someone on his phone, so he doesn’t hear me approach.

  He ends his call and turns, finally noticing me. I shove at him with the full force of my anger, the impact knocking him back.

  I admit, it’s underhanded to catch him by surprise like this. But with anxiety intermixed with anger and another emotion I don’t want to admit, I’ve shoved aside all logical thinking right now.

  “The hell’s wrong with you?” Dallas shoves back at me.

  “You didn’t tell me she asked you to Sadie Hawkins,” I practically snarl out.

  He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Dude, what…” His expression turns smug. “You’re jealous she asked me to the dance, huh?”

  I sputter, backing away. “No. That’s not it at all.”

  He crosses his arms and nods with a smirk. “Might wanna tone down the whole jealous boyfriend thing, then. Plus”—he lifts a shoulder in a half shrug—“no one told me I had to ask you for permission to go to a dance with Magnolia.”

  My hands fist at my sides, and I speak through clenched teeth. “You better keep your hands to yourself.”

  He screws up his face in exasperation. “It’s a dance, Barnes. People are gonna touch.”

  My eyes grow squinty, and he raises his hands in surrender with a sigh. “Okay, okay. Got it.” He shakes his head and turns away, muttering under his breath something that sounds like, “Asshole.”

  But I’m already walking back to my truck, feeling a little better.

  It doesn’t last for long, though.

  Magnolia frowns and draws to a stop a few feet away from her car when I pull my truck into her driveway and slide out. I leave the engine running.

  “I thought you’d stood me up.”

  “Just had an errand that ran a little longer.” I hastily add, “Sorry.”

  And I am. Not only because I’m late, but because I hate anything that puts a frown on her face.

  Her gaze is searching until her mouth finally curves up into a small smile. “You’re drivin’?”

  I nod. “Yes, ma’am.” I rush around to open the passenger door for her. “Your chariot awaits.”

  She laughs, and her eyes are lighter now. I wait for her to buckle herself in before I close the door. Circling the hood, I let out a long breath, exhaling stress and worry from my body.

  Once I’m inside the truck with her, it’s back to normal. Just Magnolia and me.

  The way I like it best.

  Each couple wears matching flannel shirts for our school’s Sadie Hawkins theme, so a little while later, she’s finally settled on matching flannels for her and Dallas. I pull out of the parking lot of the Eastern Shore Centre, where she dragged me around to a handful of shops until she found what she deemed the “perfect” shirts.

  Her shopping bag sits between us on the bench seat of my truck. My lips hitch upward because I still find it funny how the girl who has plenty of money doesn’t really like to shop. Sure, she loves getting other people gifts, but when it comes to the stereotypical shop-till-you-drop mentality, she’s the furthest thing from it.

  Magnolia lets out a little sigh as she stares out her window.

  “Feel up to one more stop before home?” I glance over and catch her eye.

  Her tone is teasing. “Depends on whether you plan to feed me or not.”

  I grin playfully and adopt a British accent, pretending to read a Shakespeare sonnet. “My mistress’ stomach loudly rumbles when she hungers.”

  Her laughter fills the cab of the truck and pushes all thoughts about her and Dallas aside.

  “The diner?” she asks softly.

  “Of course.”

  Luckily, it only takes about ten minutes to get to the Shoreline Diner. I park and rush around the front to open her door.

  Her surprised look bothers me. “What’s that look for?” I offer a hand to help her down.

  She eyes me curiously and slips her hand in mine. “You usually don’t hurry so fast to open my door,” she says with an easy laugh.

  I shrug. “Just wanna set the standards for when you’re with Dallas.” I give her hand a quick squeeze. Releasing it takes more effort than I’d like to admit. I don’t know what’s going on, but something makes me want to keep hold of her hand.

  Probably just feeling overprotective of her. Yes, that has to be it.

  Thankfully, the diner isn’t crowded, so we walk over and slide into our favorite booth. It’s right in front by the large windows facing the parking lot, giving us a view of the street and anyone out enjoying a walk.

  The few times we’ve been here after church on Sundays, we l
ike to sit and talk a while. But when we don’t feel the need to talk, we just sit and look out this window and people watch.

  “Hey, y’all!” Ms. Margie, the owner, calls out to us with a welcoming smile. She sets down two menus and takes our drink order.

  “I don’t know why I even bother lookin’ at this thing.” Magnolia’s eyes meet mine over the top of the menu, the rest of her face hidden by it. The corners of her eyes crinkle with humor. “I get the same thing every time.” She lowers the menu to the table with a tiny laugh.

  “Same here.” I stack my menu on top of hers.

  Ms. Margie comes back with our sweet teas and takes our food order, promising to be back with our meals soon.

  I toy with the napkin-wrapped silverware, avoiding Magnolia’s gaze. “So, uh…what made you ask Dallas?”

  She’s silent for a moment. When she answers, her voice sounds almost hesitant. “I guess I was just tryin’ to be brave.” Out of my periphery, I see her fingers toy with the empty paper wrapper from her straw. “He seems nice and…”

  When she trails off, I lift my eyes to meet hers. She shrugs, a half-smile toying at her lips. “Honestly, I figured he’d probably be the only boy who’d go with me.” She wrinkles her nose adorably and adds, “And who isn’t a snobby jerk.”

  What about me?

  I jerk visibly at the unexpected silent question.

  Magnolia peers at me with concern. “You okay?”

  I nod quickly. “Fine. Just…hunger pains,” I lie.

  She laughs, flashing her braces at me just as Ms. Margie slides our food in front of us.

  We fall into easy silence while we eat, but I can’t shake that unsettling question rattling in the back of my mind.

  What about me?

  Magnolia

  SIXTEEN YEARS OLD

  A FEW WEEKS LATER

  After I ring the doorbell, I stand on the concrete step and barely resist the urge to fidget. I draw on all the etiquette guidelines that have been drummed in my head and attempt to exude confidence.